


In Search of Our Better Selves

by Lady_Impala



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Slow Build, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 18:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12326646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Impala/pseuds/Lady_Impala
Summary: It has been a chaotic few months since the death of the Immortan Joe. Furiosa is trying to hold on by the tips of her metal fingers, and all she needs is a little silence.





	In Search of Our Better Selves

**Author's Note:**

> This will likely be a series of short(ish) chapters (if you know me, short is relative), and a slooooow build. Because let's be real, these two have trust issues, and no traditional need for intimacy. So this ought to be fascinating to watch...be prepared for violence, and language, and a goodly amount of sex later. Much. Later.

Furiosa's violent, triumphant return to the Citadel after her race across the Wasteland and back was met with chaos. Thrust somewhat unwillingly and unexpectedly into leadership of the Citadel, all eyes were on her. And like always, Furiosa did what was needed. To say it had been easy would be a flat out lie, but it was extremely efficient. Those who did not surrender their arms and vow to abide by the new laws were summarily and mercilessly executed, their corpse thrown from the same platform Immortan had given his speeches from. 

By the end of the first day, the stack of bodies was as tall as she was. It didn’t take long for the survivors to fall in line after that. She had agreed to no unnecessary killing; not _no_ killing. 

Over time, the Citadel had fallen into a new pattern. The Wasteland was still merciless, but now the stone tower was a beacon of true hope, rather than tyranny and oppression. No more breeders, no more mothers. Instead, the women who were previously held captive and at the whim of the Immortan Joe were able to funnel their compassion into productive avenues, to help those living among the Wretched. War Boys still provided the base labor for the Citadel, as well as protection from the constant influx of raiders and scavengers who thought to take advantage of the hole left by the death of the Immortan. They were met with fierce resistance, and an unyielding ferocity, led by Furiosa. 

There was never true silence in the Citadel. Clanking of machinery was underscored by the groans and cries of thousands of the Wretched that surrounded the stone structure that towered over the desert. Even now, months after The Uprising as the history people had taken to calling it, the screams had lessened, but the machinery still ran all day and all night. It was a constant hum that crept under the skin and never quite left. 

Furiosa missed the silence of the Wasteland. 

It was late, well past the witching hour, nearing the first shift toward dawn. Furiosa stood alone in the Dome, savoring the near-silence she found there. For months after she'd been cast out after her third failed pregnancy, Furiosa could barely stand to look at the Dome. It haunted her nightmares, and yet even that gilded hell had been better than The Outside. Her assignation to the protection of the wives had nearly undone her, years of careful construction of her walls shattered with a single word. 

Now, it was the one haven she had left. 

The remaining wives refused to set foot in the Dome, and Furiosa couldn't blame them. Her own memories were never far from the surface, of lonely days and hellish nights. Yes, they were well fed. Yes, they had clean water. But the things demanded of them in exchange? Weren't worth all the fresh water in the world so far as she was concerned. The space could, she suspected, be used for more efficient purposes; storage, housing, any one of a thousand ideas sprang to mind as she stood on the edge of the rough-hewn circular room, her good hand tucked in her pocket while her other arm hung bare and crippled, her mechanical hand hung on a peg by the door. 

Instead, Furiosa had all but claimed this space as her sanctuary, and none dared fight her for it. 

A single oil lamp sat at her feet, casting a steady, golden light into the room. It didn't fill it by any means, creating sharp shadows that moved with nightmares. Furiosa kept her eyes resolutely away from the darkness, knowing what lay there and wanting none of it tonight. She hadn't come here to be reminded of why she was; only to find peace in the silence as best she could. Clear eyes the color of open water she only barely remembered from her childhood scanned the edges of the room, what was once her whole world until she'd failed. Now she stood alone, resolute to reclaim her past, and find the redemption she'd told that fool about in a moment of rare honesty. 

Taking slow steps across the stone, Furiosa let her shortened arm hang by her side, the thumb of her other hand tucked into one of several belts that ringed her waist. The emblem that she'd worn for so many years was long since gone, replaced by a new symbol; a scrawled, haphazard tree within a twisted braid. Chains still hung from it, chiming softly in the dark as she walked. Miss Giddy's words were still scrawled across the floor, barely discernible in the half-light that her oil lamp cast. Pausing at the edge, Furiosa stared down at them, the shouts ringing in her ears. 

_We are not things._

The unfamiliar sting of tears flashed across her eyes, and the tall woman took a sudden step away. She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, fighting back the display of emotion even alone to her own thoughts. A twinge of pain shot up her chest, one hand brushing across the just-healed scar where her own blade had been shoved between her ribs. Fool's real name floated up from the fog of memories, hazy at best from that day; she nearly latched onto it, but before she could wrap her tongue around it, it fled again. 

For hours, she walked. Just a slow circuit around the room, eyes on the ground just in front of her toes, Furiosa walked. At first, her mind was filled with thoughts of the Citadel; how to handle the newest uprising, supply rationing, training the new war pups. Functional, logical thoughts. But those didn't last her long, and soon her mind was free to simply wander. She could feel dark memories picking at the edges of her thoughts, insistent and demanding attention. Knowing she had hours before anyone thought to look for her, much less find her here, she climbed the steps up to the small round window near the ceiling. In the pitch black night of the desert, the thin sliver of a moon cast watery silver light, the velvet sky pockmarked with stars. Furiosa's eyes wandered the peek of the outside she could see, then with a slow, deliberate breath, she let them come. 

First were the screams. Shrill over the roar of engines, the sounds of daughters being ripped from their mothers, families torn apart. A terrified child of only 6, Furiosa had clung desperately to her mother as they fled into the night, but nothing could outrun the raiders. The two of them were dragged across the sands behind one of the cars; Furiosa managed to keep her feet, but a broken leg prevented her mother from the same dexterity. Only three days in, she'd been shot by the driver, a "mercy killing" she thought he'd said. 

A great many days blurred together at that point, nothing but hot and sand and pain. Furiosa's next clear memory that lurched out of the dark was from a decade later, when she was first brought up to the Dome. She was introduced young, too young to breed, but pretty and strong enough, so they figured she'd be a good addition. Even in a place as oddly beautiful as the Dome, with its windows and plants and books and _water,_ God help her, it was wrong. Off, somehow. But none of the women would tell her just how. 

Just past the edge of that memory, of sunlit afternoons spent reading and learning, Furiosa could _feel_ the acid of the next recollection. She pushed back against it, tried to stop it, but it had the momentum of previous vulnerability on its side, and the vivid images flashed across her mind. 

The dark room, with its oppressive curtains. The stale stench of unwashed, unhealthy man. The hands on her, over her, through her. Her knees buckled as the remembered heat of his breath across her cheek knocked the wind out of her, and she landed hard on the top stair. The jarred stop, the glancing pain of impact was too similar the pain of his weight, his force, his _violation_ that continued through the tears of her protest. 

Despite her best efforts, Furiosa curled to her side and lost the contents of her stomach on the cold stone. Shivers that weren't entirely due to the chill in the waning night air rippled across her skin. Both arms wrapped tight across her chest, her scarred stump pressed hard into her ribs as she gave in to the ugly sobs she hadn't allowed herself for years. Dust and grease streaked down her cheeks, bitter on her lips as she gasped for air. 

A soft hand on her shoulder startled her badly. Furiosa threw herself sideways into the stone wall, her hand reaching for the gun strapped to her leg. "No no, Furiosa, it's ok, it's just me," came the quiet voice of Capable. Through the haze of tears, the disoriented woman caught sight of a flash of red hair, and big, too-bright blue eyes darkened with concern. "Hush now, it's just me." 

Heart hammering against her chest, Furiosa cleared her throat awkwardly and pushed herself a little further away, to the edge of the platform and out of reach. Grit scratched at her face as she wiped away the evidence of tears and left dirty fingerprints against weathered skin. "I'm fine," she said in answer to the question that wasn't asked. "I'm fine. What?" 

Skeptical, but smart enough to keep her mouth shut, Capable took a step back to give Furiosa a little more room. "They're calling for you. Something that needs your immediate attention." Her voice was soothing, business and yet tender enough to help calm Furiosa's spiked adrenaline. 

"What the hell is so important?" Furiosa snapped, rising on unsteady feet. 

"Max is here."


End file.
